THE  LAST  SALUT 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY  THE 

REVEREND  CASSIUS  MARCUS  ROBERTS,  AM. 


Philadelphia 
THE  JOHN  C.  WINSTON  COMPANY 

1908 


Copyright,  1908 

by 

L.  M.  ROBERTS 


TO  HIS  MANY  FRIENDS  BOTH  EAST  AND  WEST 

THIS  LITTLE  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED 

BY 

HIS  WIFE 


ft  requires  mucb  faitb  to  print  a  book  of  poems- 
It  requires  more  to  scno  tbe  booh  to  one's  frienos. 
I  prav.  eou  luoge  me  leniently  for  tbe  tirst, 
HnO  ftlnolv.  for  tbe  secono— 
Jfor  faitb  is  tbe  brotber  of  bope 
Bno  tbe  cbilo  of  love, 
BnD  tbese  tbree  abtoe  forever. 

3be  Butbor. 


CONTENTS 

page 

Author's  Foreword 7 

1.  The  Last  Salute.     Part  1 9 

2.  um          «                 «    g 10 

3.  The  Cry  of  the  Soul 11 

1.  To  an   Uncaged  Bird 1- 

5.  A  Summer  Evening  on  the   Sound  at  Low  Tide 13 

6.  "For  it  is  God  That  Wohketh   in   You." — St.  Paul   ....  15 
"Love  Moves  the  Sun  and  the  Other  Stars." — Dante   ...  15 

7.  A    Sr.M.Mi:n    Morning 18 

8.  An   Faster   Vision 19 

9.  The  Ocean's  Shore 21 

10.  "Welcome  for  a  House M 

11.  Hymn  —  For  the  Consecration  of  a  Church 25 

12.  A  Prayer 27 

13.  To  a  Moonless  Night 29 

14.  A  Spring  Morning 31 

15.  A   Broken   Flower 33 

16.  Sonnet 35 

17.  De  Profundis 3(3 

18.  The  Suppliant,  the  Prayer,  and  the  Answer 37 

19.  The  Resurrection  and  the  Life 40 

20.  The   Christmastdde 42 

21.  A  Song  of  the  New  Year 43 

22.  Kenyon   Alumni   Hymn 44 

23.  A  Summer  Sunset  on  the  Coast  of  New  Jersey 46 

24.  A  Rainy  Day  in  October 48 

25.  To   Two   Little    Maidens 50 

26.  To  Miss  R.  McC 51 

27.  To  a  Butterfly 52 

28.  The   Concertina   Player 54 

29.  New  Year's  Eve  —  Two  Voices 57 

30.  In  Response  to  a  Message   From  W.  G 60 

31.  Abraham  Lincoln,  on  the  91tii  Anniversary  of  His  Birth  .      .  61 

32.  The   Mystery   of   Suffering 63 

33.  "  And  yet  I  am  not  Alone  Because  the  Father  is  With  Me  "  .  64 

34.  On  Meeting  a  Blind-Man  in  the  Street 65 

35.  The    Question 67 

36.  To  a  Poetess  at  Eighty  Years 69 

37.  A    Christmas    Greeting 70 

38.  To  My  Pipe 79 

39.  Our   Bungalow 73 

40.  Unfinished  Fragment 75 


THE  LAST  SALUTE 

TO    W.    B.    B. 

June,  1907 

We  never  have  run  about  the  braes 

Nor  pulled  the  gowans  fine, 
But  we  fought  the  devil  of  modern  days, 

And  we  led  our  battle  line. 

We  broke  the  bread  and  we  blessed  the  cup, 
And  prayed  and  preached  and  sang; 

Together  we  held  the  Lord  Christ  up 
Where  the  conflict  fiercest  rang. 

And  ever  as  His  battalions  trod 
The  way  they  would  not  yield, 

We  held  it  best  if  the  peace  of  God 
Brought  death  on  the  battlefield. 

O  comrade,  I,  for  the  brave,  brave  fight, 

Salute  your  honor  high, 
Who  never  turned  for  an  instant's  flight, 

Nor  saw  with  a  coward's  eye. 

My  hand  in  faith  and  my  heart  in  love, 

And  ever  my  prayer  anew, 
That  you  strike  once  more  for  God  above, 

And  that  I  may  strike  with  you. 


[9] 


October,  1907 

In  vain  I  wait  to  bear  thy  tread 

Come  softly  down  the  aisle, 
They  tell  me  thou  art  gone  ahead 

And  I  must  wait  awhile. 

And  when  I  longing  look  to  see 

What  I  shall  see  no  more, 
How  can  I  walk  alone  where  we 

Together  walked  before? 

Dear  hand,  that  held  the  Spirit's  blade 

And  Cross  before  mine  eyes, 
Dear  heart,  that  gave  mine  accolade  — 

"  Soldier,  in  Christ  arise !  " 

How  can  I  strike  for  God  —  alone  — 

Where  fell  thy  sword  arm  low, 
When  all  my  spirit  caught  the  tone 

And  rhythm  of  thy  blow  ? 

O  father,  brother,  guide  and  friend, 

0  comrade,  true  and  tried, 
Pray  God  for  me  that  at  the  end 

1  die  as  thou  hast  died. 

Note: — The   second   part  of  The  Last   Salute   written   after  the   death 
of  Dr.  Bodine  was  the  author's  last  finished  poem. 


[10] 


THE  CRY  OF  THE  SOUL 

God,  I  am  weary  and  mv  quest 
1^   now  for  rest,  Lord,  only   rest; 
I  lift  my  heart  from  thronging  griefs 
Through  ranging  highlands  of  belief  >. 

I  >ce  the  sin,  I  see  the  death, 

I  know  the  curse  in  human  breath, 

I  feel  the  misery  of  woe ; 

My  soul  is  low,  Lord,  very  low. 

With  captain  and  with  captain's  clan, 
I  fight  and  struggle  as  I  can, 
Yet  still  the  mighty  hold  the  seat 
And  I  know  little  but  defeat. 

Strong  seems  the  wrong  and  weak  the  right, 
And  few  there  be  that  faithful  fight ; 
Thy  heaven  is  far,  the  world  is  near, 
And  faith  prostrates  itself  to  fear. 

We  need  Thee,  Lord;  more  than  Th}*  grace 
Wc  need  to  look  upon  Thy  face; 
We  need  to  know  Thee  close  at  hand 
That  we,  when  beaten,  still  may  stand. 

Weak  man  I  am  and  where  I  come 
The  wicked  mock  and  I  am  dumb; 
God,  I  am  weary  and  my  quest 
Is  now  for  rest,  Lord,  only  rest. 

pi] 


TO  AN  UNCAGED  BIRD 

A  weary  bird  within  a  cage, 

Faintly,  O  Lord,  he  sings  to  Thee 
One  little  quavering  note, 
The  melody  of  rote, 

Instead  of  that  full-throated  minstrelsy 
Which  burnetii  in  his  heart,  a  noble   rage 
That  nothing  can  assuage 

Save  hills   and  forests  broad,  where  he 

Can  flit  from  tree  to  tree 

Like  the  free  spirit  of  a  pure  democracy. 

There  filleth  he  the  listening  earth 

With  freedom's   sweetest  challenge  high, 
And  splendidly  are  rolled 
His  bars  of  liquid  gold 

Up  the  long  arches  of  the  templed  sky. 
Oh  thou,  interpreter  by  right  of  birth 
Of  nature's  holy  mirth, 

Thou  Levite  of  the  woodlands,  fly, 

And,  as  thou  passest  by, 

Sing,  for  thy  dumb  jailor  hath  nothing  but  a  cry. 

Thou  sacred  child  of  air  and  light; 

The  forest  that  around  thee  rings 
Still  unto  thee  belongs, 
With  all  its  wondrous   songs ; 
Thy  title  to  it  is  thine  outstretched  wings. 
Soul  of  th'  unbought  wilderness,  thy  brave  flight, 
On  my  enraptured  sight, 

Fair  visions  of  my  dreamland,  flings 
The  grace  of  all  free  things, 

And  in  thine  untaught  song,  my  uncaged  spirit  sings, 
[12] 


A  SUMMER  EVENING  ON  THE  SOUND  AT  LOW  TIDE 

The  lonely  clammer  leaves  the  bar 
Where  all  the  day  he  plied  his  trade, 

As  o'er  the  meadows,  dim  and  far, 

The  lights  of  evening  flash  and  fade. 

The  ceaseless  tides  that  through  the  deep 

Forever  roll  their  weight  along, 
Here  gently  thrill  as  though  asleep 

And  rippling  sing  their  rhythmic  song, 

A  single  sea-gull  swiftly  speeds 

On  eager  wings  towards  the  sea; 
A  marsh-hen  cackles  in  the  reeds, 

And  somehow  peace  has  come  to  me. 

A  strange  sweet  stillness  settles  down, 

That  is  not  silence  to  the  soul; 
As  when  from  some  far  distant  town 

We  hear  the  bells  at  evening  toll. 

And  on  the  low  horizon's  rim 

The  rising  clouds  are  slow  uncurled, 

Till  mountain  masses,  black  and  grim, 
Seem  building  walls  around  the  world. 

And  in  this  vast  cathedral  calm, 

Of  earth  and  sky  and  sea  and  air, 

Where  every  sound  is  like  a  psalm, 
And  all  the  silence  like  a  prayer; 

[131 


Oh  minster  towers,  how  dim  ye  seem ! 

Oh  calling  bells,  how  far  from  here! 
In  this  sweet  peace  I  scarce  can  dream 

Of  men  that  sin  and  curse  and  fear. 

And  so  I  listen  to  the  waves 

That  lightly  lap  along  the  shore, 

And  hear  no  note  of  storm  that  raves, 
Nor  echo  from  the  tempest's  roar. 

Far  from  the  world  with  all  its  care; 

Far  from  follies  and  its  fears; 
There  yet  is  something  in  the  air 

That's  strangely  near  akin  to  tears. 

Those  tears  that  mingle  with  our  blood, 
And  flow  when  hearts   are   overfull; 

For  melancholy  marks  the  good, 
And  sadness  all  the  beautiful. 

Volcanic  soul,  whose  nether  fires 

Still   fiercely   burn   along  thy   veins, 

Thou  willful  child  of  strong  desires, 
Stand  still  awhile  where  heaven  reigns. 

Some  oversoul  of  sweet  release; 

Some  shadowy  but  Almighty  hand, 
Is  blending  thee  with  all  the  peace 

That  falls  across  this  meadow-land. 


[14] 


"For  it  m  God  that  worketh  in  you." — St.  Paui* 

"Lore  mores  the  sun  and  the  other  stars." — Danti:. 

PART  ONE 

The  flattering  day  had  soothed  my  pride 
With  triumphs  over  trifling  tilings; 

I  walked  the  earth  half  deified, 

And  Folly  measured  me  with  kings. 

When,  lo!  I  looked  into  the  night; 

I  saw  the  heavens  and  heard  the  sea ; 
And,  somehow,  at  the  awful  sight, 

I  withered  in  immensity. 

What  art  thou,  man?     Lord  of  the  sphere, 
The  lightnings  in  thy  countenance? 

Or  but  the  child  of  nameless  Fear 
And  tangled  mystery  of  Chance? 

Oh,  reader,  as  an  open  page 

The  changeful  moods  of  day  and  night! 
Oh,  watcher,  on  th'  eternal  stage 

The  drama  of  the  infinite! 

Stand  still,  0  soul,  and  hear  the  voice 

Forever  old,  forever  new; 
Stand  still,  O  soul,  hear  and  rejoice 

And  read  the  riddle  that  is  you. 


[15] 


PART  TWO 

Last  night  the  moon  was  large  and  red 
And  crimson  as  a  warrior's  shield ; 

As  though   a  million  men  had  bled 
On  some  vast  lunar  battlefield. 

The  sea  beneath  her  heaved  and  tossed 
And  moaned  as  one  in  mortal  pain; 

And,  like  the  spirits  of  the  lost, 

The  winds  caught  up  the  sad  refrain. 

They  told  it  to  each  list'ning  star, 

For,  one  by  one,  they  drooped  and  paled, 

Till  o'er  the  heavens,  dim  and  far, 

They  moved  like  mourners,  deeply  veiled. 

To-night  the  moon  is  bright  and  fair, 
Bathing  the  world  in  liquid  light; 

The  sea  is  calm,  the  lilting  air 
Is  sensuous  with  pure  delight. 

And  not  a  cloud  obscures  the  sky; 

No  tremor  shakes  the  golden-rod; 
A  myriad  stars  flame  out  on  high 

Like  candles  round  the  throne  of  God. 


[16] 


PART  THREE 

Oh  heart  of  man  that  sobs  or  sings, 
Oh  soul  with  power  to  bless  and  curse, 

That  subtle  sympathy  of  things 
Which  grandly  tunes  the  universe, 

That  harmony  which  moves  upon 
The  chaos  of  the  spatial  throng, 

Is  but  the  outer  antiphon 

Responding  to  the  inner  song. 

Hark  then!   the  voice  of  prophecy 
Which  calls  thee  even  from  the  dust; 

Thy  universe  is  God  and  thee, 

And  all  its  message  —  love  and  trust. 

And  sun  and  moon  and  stars  and  sea 
Shall  be  the  vassals  of  thy  will, 

And  deep  as  God's  eternity 

Shall  run  His  word  —  Rise  and  fulfill. 


[17] 


A  SUMMER  MORNING 

The  last  star  flings  its  glittering  lance 
Against  the  helm  of  dawn, 

A  million  golden  splinters  dance 
About  the  dewy  lawn. 

Before  the  heralds  of  the  day 

The  fleeing  shadows  go, 
Far  up  the  hills  they  troop  away 

With  banners  trailing  low. 

Look  thou,  my  love,  into  the  skies 
Where  morning's  splendors  shine, 

That  see  I,  Love,  in  thy  dear  eyes, 
That  thou  shouldst  see  in  mine. 


[18] 


AN  EASTER  VISION 

There's  something  mjstic   in   the  morn, — • 

A  wondrous  grace  of  modest  hesitation, — 
As   when  the  woman,  newly  born, 

Awakens  from  her   maiden   meditation, 
And,  lifting  unaccustomed  eyes 

Upon  a  wholly  new  and  strange  creation, 
She  watches  with  a  sad  surprise 
While  all  her  old  world  slowly  dies 

And  her  assurance  turns  to  consternation. 

How  blessed  then  the  yesterdays 

That  clasp  the  priceless  gems  of  her  affection, 
And,  in  her  soul's   complete  amaze, 

Still  binds  her  in  unbreakable  connection 
With  all  the  memories  of  things 

That  were  to  her  a  changeless  benediction ; 
And  faith,  amidst  the  ruinings 
Of  faith,  still  keeps  her  deathless  kings, 

And  contradicts  the  sternest  contradiction. 

So,  trembling  in  the  fearful  gloom, 

Came  Mary  hasting  that  first  Easter  morning; 
She  brought  some  spice  and  sweet  perfume, — 

Her  woman's   treasure  for  her  own  adorning. 
But  ah,  her  faithful  heart  had  brought 

What   little  dreamed   she  was  her  finer  treasure, 
That  thing  which  only  God  hath  wrought, 
That  thing  the  raptured  saints  have  sought, 

And  faith  perceives  in  death  —  life's  vaster  measure. 


[19] 


There  is  a  life  that's  only  death, 

A  breathing  chaos,  cursing  with  affliction; 
There  is  a  life  that's  more  than  death, 

And  triumphs  over  every  crucifixion; 
And  Mary,  Mary's  soul  above 

Saw  realms  beyond  the  realms  of  death's  disaster; 
She  heard  the  voice  of  perfect  love, 
And,  like  a  lonely  homing  dove, 

Fled  to  Him  crying  out,  "  Rabboni,"  Master. 

There  is  in  every  little  seed 

That  dares  to  lift  its  heart  toward  things  sidereal, 
What  laws  of  nature  cannot  breed, — 

What  does  not  slumber  in  the  mere  material; 
For  life  is  ever  more  than  bread ; 

We  heed  nor  hear  the  voice  of  desolation; 
And  o'er  the  graves  of  millions  dead 
We  lift  a  fearless  shining  head, 

And  sing  of  everlasting  consolation. 


[20] 


THE  OCEAN'S  SHORE 

That  narrow  shifting  line  between  the  sand  and  sea, 

That   place  where  land   and   water  inert  — 

The  Ocean's  shore  — 

I've  seen  again  and  heard  its  voice  —  great  Nature's  voice 

That's  never  stilled  nor  changed  nor  falsified 

From  the  far  morning  of  this  world's  day. 

No  man  hath  ever  writ  upon  that  line,  "  I'm  master  here," 
But  a  few  ripples  from  the  soundless  deep  hath  rolled  above 
And  left  it  all  as  smooth  and  clean  as  the  untouched  sky. 
Here  undisputed  Nature  speaks  her  sovereign  will,  and  here  this 

mad  world 
Comes  to  hear,  and  mayhap  touch  her  floating  robe 
And,  from  its  healing  hem,  find  its  sweet  sanity  again. 

There  is  a  holy  and  a  ghostly  power  untrammeled  Nature  ever 

has 
To  so  hold  the  mirror  of  her  faultless  truth  to  each  man's  face, 
That  he  shall  see  the  deeps  divinely  set  within  himself, 
And  be  himself  and  glory  in  himself  for  what  he  is. 
Why,  'tis  a  place  where  fools  seem  called  to  babble  folly, 
And  'tis  a  place  where  silent  sages  stand  and  humbly  wait 
To  hear  in  soothing  harmonies  the  voice  of  God. 

O  man,  that  standest  idly  where  the  land  and  water  meet, 

Behold  th'  unanswering  shore  that's  patient  still  through  ever- 
lasting blows, 

And  then  the  shouting  sea,  courageous  still  through  everlasting 
toil, 

And  'twixt  these  two  a  contest  glorious  that  ends  not  nor  abates 
forever. 

[21] 


And  thinkcst  thou  Omnipotence  is   running   to  thy  feet  these 

leaping  waves 
For  nothing  but  to  beat  their  noisy  fury  into  silence  here 
Upon  this  senseless  and  this  unresisting  sand?     I  tell  thee  now 
That  God  is  holding  up  the  mirror  to  thine  own  face: 
Here  thy  dull  ears  are  hearing  full  within  thy  solitary  world 
Thine  own  imperial  must  and  slavish  cannot  at  a  breath ; 
And  here  the  fluid  freedom  of  thy  future  cries,  to  thy  unheed- 
ing soul, 
Its  bitter  protest  at  the  stony  bondage  of  thy  present  to  thy 
dead  past. 

O  'tis  a  joy  fit  for  a  god  to  know  such  deeps  and  heights  of 

power 
Within  ourselves,  that  we  may  fearless  front  the  problems  of 

our  universe; 
But  'tis  a  grief  that  beggars  words  to  feel  the  fear  that  dares 

not; 
To  hear  within  our  souls  the  cry  of  chaos  for  the  king's  law 
And  never  dare  to  answer  like  a  king. 

The  shore,  eternally  defiant,  stands  in  moanless  silence 
'Neath  the  everlasting  blows  of  Ocean's  wrath  and  answers  not 
Through  all  a  million  years  of  changeless  contest: 
And   the   sea,    ever   gathering   up   her   broken    and    retreating 

columns 
To  hurl  them  all  afresh  upon  her  ancient  enemy  with  shouts 
Of  thunderous  protest  that  abates  nor  changes  not  with  time, 
Neither  conquering  nor  conquered  —  an  elemental  and,  at  times, 
Infuriate  war  would   crush  the  iron   navies   of  the   earth   like 

rotted  straw. 

[22] 


What   meana    tin's    riddle    that   outrcaches    time  —  this   truccless 

conflict  — 
But    that,    betwixt    the    sullen    shore's,    M  I    will    not,"    and    the 

Ocean's  stern,  "I  will," 
God  grinds  the  stuff  with   which   He  builds  in  beauty  and  in 

glory 
This  solid  and  majestic  world? 

And  yet  I've  seen  a  peace  so  gentle  and  so  kind 
Upon  that  line  that  helpless  babes  might  play  there, 
And  the  long  waves,  that  rolled  from  out  the  mighty  deep 
And  flung  themselves  upon  the  shore  in  endless  crashings, 
But  seemed  to  cradle  in  the  Eternal's  calm  my  tired  soul. 


[23] 


WELCOME  —  FOR  A  HOUSE 

Friendship  is  that  holy  estate  into  which  none  can  enter 
save  only  the  elect  of  God. 

This  house  that's  mine  is  also  thine, 
O  friend  that  comes  to  tarry  here; 

All  welcomes  greet  thy  ent'ring  feet, 
And  ev'ry  comfort  of  good  cheer.  . 

May  all  the  wealth  of  gracious  health 

Still,  still  be  thine  through  length  of  days; 

And  not  a  fear  and  not  a  tear, 

And  God  to  keep  thee  young  always. 

Bring  peace  of  mind  and  thou  shalt  find 
A  welcome  here  that  never  ends; 

Within  these  walls  and  narrow  halls 

There's  hearth  and  home  for  all  our  friends. 

Joy  unconfined  shall  draw  the  blind 
And  lure  old  Time  to  stop  and  nod ; 

Our  fire  alight  shuts  out  the  night, 
Come  in  and  leave  the  world  to  God. 


[24] 


HYMN 

FOR   THE  CONSECRATION   OF   A  CHURCH 

House  of  the  living  God ; 

Enriched  by  praise  and  prayer; 
Here,  Lord,  we  bend  beneath  Thy  rod, 

Believing  in  Thy  care. 
Make  this  Thy  temple  stand 

While  mortal  hearts  still  bleed; 
A  mighty  rock  in  a  weary  land 

And  refuge  in  our  need. 

Within  these  hallowed  walls 

And  spacious  aisles  between, 
Grant,  Lord,  to  whomsoever  calls 

Thy  glory  may  be  seen. 
Here  may  the  sinner  turn ; 

The  troubled  find  Thy  peace ; 
Thy  lamp  of  love  forever  burn 

And  ever  more  increase. 

Here  lift  the  souls  that  grieve; 

And  stop  the  tears  that  flow; 
And  teach  Thy  people  to  believe 

What  saints  and  angels  know. 
And  grant  each  contrite  heart 

And  broken  be  refreshed; 
Till  every  sorrow  shall  depart 

Through  Thee,  O  Christ,  confessed. 


[25] 


Here,  Lord,  Thine  altars  raise, 

And  pour  Thy  waters  blest, 
Till  heaven  and  earth  shall  sing  Thy  praise 

And  all  the  weary  rest. 
Still  for  the  battles'  strife 

Our  courage,  Lord,  renew; 
Lift  up  the  gates  of  heavenly  life 

And  let  the  King  come  through. 

Amen. 

Sung  at  the  Consecration  of  the  Church  of  the  Saviour, 
November  20th,  1906. 


[26] 


A  PRAYER 

O  God,  these  myriads,  unelcct, 

Who  seethe  and  sour   in  hitter  talk, 
Who  crawl  and  grovel,  unerect, 

And  never  rise  and   never  walk; 

To  whom  the  earth,  with  all  its  wealth, 
Is  but  a  carcass  where  to  feed; 

And  every  sweet  impulse  of  health 
Is  cursed  by  the  laws  of  greed; 

Whose  lives  are  like  the  clouded  sea, 
Where  every  sail  is  reefed  and  still, 

And  arching  their  eternity 

Seems  nothing  but  a  sullen  will; 

Where  all  the  waves  that  by  them  roll 
But  sweep  their  unresisting  decks, 

And  not  a  wind  from  pole  to  pole 
But  beats  them  into  heavier  wrecks; 

Who  feel  no  pains  save  those  that  hurt, 
Wrho  only  know  to  curse  and  grope, 

These  dead  that  live  —  these  poor  inert  - 
Without  a  star  of  faith  or  hope ; 

Lord,  wake  for  them  some  mighty  seer, 
Some  prophet  with  a  living  tongue, 

Whose  life  shall  be  the  atmosphere 
Of  deeds  and  worlds  forever  young. 

[27] 


Serene  amidst  the  storms  that  roll, 
So  let  him  stand  that  these  may  see, 

And  show  to  every  troubled  soul, 
That  man's  the  only  mystery; 

That  God  and  man  are  only  one, 
And  death  and  hell  but  seem  to  be, 

Through  every  darkness  shines  Thy  Sun, 
And  time  is  Thy  eternity. 


[28] 


TO  A  MOONLESS  NIGHT 

How  beautiful  is  night, 
When,  with  the  light, 
The  common  things  of  day 
Have  passed  away. 

I  love  the  somber  dark 
That  clothes  a  stark 
Old  Nature's  war-worn  face 
With  holy  grace. 

The  comedies  in  dust, 
Of  fear  and  lust; 
All  vanish  from  the  sight 
Before  the  night. 

Away  beyond  the  clouds 
The  world  enshrouds, 
When  nothing  earthly  mars 
The  flaming  stars, 

My  soul  takes  freedom's  wings 
And,  soaring,  sings; 
No  sun,  no  moon,  no  earth, 
No  death,  no  birth, 

No  ghostly  fears  to  loom 
Out  of  the  gloom, 
In  all  the  Universe 
Never  a  curse. 

[29] 


The  domed  and  templed  skies, 
Before  my  eyes, 
And  all  the  Infinite 
Where  God  is  light. 


[30] 


A  SPRING  MORNING 

The  gusty  wind  blows  from  the  sea, 

The  clouds  swing  high  above, 
A  meadow-lark  sings  on  the  lea 

His  song   of  brooding   love. 

The  shading  light,  through  grassy  fields, 

Runs  like  a  soft  caress, 
As  when  a  maiden  bends  and  yields 

To  love  that  comes  to  bless. 

O  morning  time  in  mooding  time, 

When  souls  together  sweep; 
O  morning  time  in   brooding  time, 

When  only  love  is  deep; 

When  kindness  does  not  know  'tis  kind, 
For  wounds   are  not  yet   sore; 

With  Eden  but  a  step  behind 
And  all  the  world  before  — 

Sing,  soul  of  youth,  thy  heart  is  strong, 

Thy  blood  is  full  of  fire; 
Sing  out,  O  Soul,  thy  wonder  song, 

The  song  of  thy  desire. 

The  raptures  of  the  waking  day 

Prophetic  round  thee  roll, 
Thy  feet  are  eager  for  the  way 

And  songs  are  in  thy  soul. 

[31] 


Thy  foes  have  never  yet  been  born, 
Thy  battles  not  conceived; 

And  half  thy  hope  is  in  the  scorn 
Of  faith  still  undeceived. 

For  age  to  thee  is  Folly's  fee, 

And  weakness  only  sin, 
And  all  thy  future,  wild  and  free, 

Is  thine  to  conquer  in. 

Let  evening  come  with  Mercy's  cry 

Before  oblivious  night, 
Around  is  the  expanding  sky, 

And  life  is  all  delight. 


[32] 


A  BROKEN  FLOWER 

/  sazc-  a  flower  lift  up  its  head, 

In  crimson  glory  full  outspread, 

It  caught  the  ruins  the  lumens  shed; 

It  broke  and  fell,  and  lo,  'twas  dead. 

How  passing-  strange  a  seed  should  be 
A  prison  for  life's  prophecy ; 
How  stranger  far  the  rain  should  free 
That  life  into  this  rhapsody  — 

This  rhapsody  of  color  fine, 
And  form  that  seems  almost  divine, 
Outmatching  rubies  crystalline 
As  water  is  outmatched  by  wine. 

And  yet  the  power  that  smote  the  cell 
Till  bars  and  gates  before  it  fell, 
Calling  thenceforth  with  living  spell 
This  flower  as  fair  as  asphodel, 

Now  smites  without  a  sign  of  pain 
This  flower  of  life  to  death  again ; 
In  life,  in  death,  without  a  stain ; — 
Are  life  and  death  both  in  the  rain? 

And  is  there  something,  then,  of  death 
That  pulses  in  the  living  breath? 
And  all  our  hopes,  hath  God  thus  saith : 
"The  grave  is  all  life  offercth"? 

[33] 


Strange,  flower  and  man  together  cry 
For  blessings  most  supremely  high; 
And  when  they  come,  together  lie, 
Broken  by  fullness,  wond'ring  why. 

I   felt  that  wonder  in  me  swell, 
But,  still  believing  all  was  well, 
I  stooped  above  the  flower  that  fell  — 
A  worm  had  done  the  deed  of  hell. 

Hell?     Be  it  worm  or  wind  or  rain, 
'Twas  hands  of  love  the  flower  had  slain, 
Nor  heard  I  hand  or  flower  complain, 
For  Love  and  Life  and  Hope  remain. 

Still  in  the  broken  stem  there  grew 
The  power  to  bud  and  flower  anew; 
Still  there  the  living  might  that  drew 
Love's  blessings  from  the  rain  and  dew. 

Above  the  wreck  that  round  it  lay 
Shone  all  the  glory  of  the  day; 
And  in  the  breezes  cradling  sway 
Was  power  above  the  power  to  slay. 

O  Lord,  I'm  weak  from  arrow  stings 
The   bow   of  my  misfortune  flings; 
Yet  wake  in  me  th'  ethereal  springs 
Of  all  divine  imaginings, 

Till  I  can  bear  with  perfect  glance 
The  splendor  of  Thy  countenance; 
Keep  Thou  Thy  law  around  my  chance, 
Thy  shadow  o'er  my  circumstance. 
[34] 


SONNET 


Drunken  with  praise  and  pleasure,  lo,  she  stands 
And  leans  against  the  casement  of  the  door; 

Her  head,  queenlike,  high  flun^-,  as  looking  o'er 
Some  triumph  that  had  brought  her  many  lands 
To  rule,  and  now,  at  her  supreme  commands, 
High  fashion  and  fair  beauty  stop  to  pour, 
As  they  have  done  a  thousand  times  before, 
Their  homage  free,  enscept'ring  her  weak  hands. 
The  horses  of  Aurora  might  have  felt 
As  she;  but  not  Aurora's  self  divine, 
Who,  speeding  o'er  the  heavens,  calmly  knelt 
And  held  with  master  hand  the  guiding  line ; 
Nor  on  the  glory  of  her  labors  dwelt ;  — 
Her  duty  in  the  heavens  was  to  shine. 


[35] 


DE  PROFUNDIS 

Through  heavy  clouds  that  roll  above  the  city ; 

Now  here,  now  there,  obscuring  house  and  street ; 
Men,  weary-eyed,  look  up  and  curse  your  pity ; 

Out  of  the  deeps  where  God  and  Mammon  meet. 

What  are  the  clouds  that  roll  above  the  city? 

What  are  the  clouds  the  winds  blow  not  away? 
Incense  from  them  that  troll  the  careless  ditty, 

And  stop  to  prate  but  never  stoop  to  pray. 

Yonder  they  rise,  the  master  in  his  palace 

Buildeth  an  altar  to  a  ribald  god; 
He  is  the  priest  that  poureth  in  the  chalice 

WTine  from  the  blood  where  Honour's  feet  have  trod. 

Dim  through  that  haze,  I  see  poor  women's  faces, 
Mute  as  the  beasts  that  only  look  their  wrong ; 

Out  of  young  hearts  where  God  has  throned  the  graces, 
I  hear  a  sob  that  ought  to  be  a  song. 

Woe  to  the  world  when  Honour's  courage  falters, 
When  honest  toil  shall  ring  no  sacring  bell ; 

Woe  to  the  world  when  Labor  rears  no  altars 
To  God  in  heaven,  for  then  our  god's  in  hell. 

Out  of  the  deeps  men  call  upon  their  maker; 

O  Jcsu,  hear  and  answer  them  right  soon 
With  help  and  hope,  outside  Thy  waiting  acre, 

Ere  hopeless  night  shall  cover  helpless  noon. 


[36] 


THE  SUPPLIANT,  THE  PRAYER  AND  THE  ANSWER 
The  Suppliant: 

Well  groomed  he  came,  with  quiet  air, 

Into  the  church  one  Lenten  day, 
And,  in  its  atmosphere  of  prayer, 

He  knelt  and  bowed  his  head  to  pray. 

He  closed  his  eyes  to  shut  without 

The  world  and  all  its  sodden  sin ; 
He  needed  not,  for  sodden  doubt 

Long  since  had  shut  his  soul  within. 

Not  doubt  of  Church,  not  doubt  of  creeds, 
Nor  hell  so  deep,  nor  heaven  so  high; 

But  doubt  of  any  human  needs, 

Which  God  had  called  him  to  supply. 

He  saw  the  current  of  the  years 

Run  red  with  wrong,  nor  heard  the  cry 

Boom  down  the  heavens  for  his  ears : 
"  Rise,  son  of  man,  and  prophesy." 

He  knew  the  greed  that  tortures  man 
Nor  raised  his  hand  its  curse  to  stay ; 

He  deemed  it  all  was  heaven's  plan, 
And,  calmly,  he  knelt  down  to  pray. 


[37] 


The  Prayer: 

Have  mercy  on  my  soul,  O  Lord, 

And  speak  to  me  Thy  pard'ning  word. 

Forgive  my  sin  and  set  me  free, 

That  I  may  be  at  peace  with  Thee. 

For  I  have  longed  to  see  Thy  face 

And  feel  Thy  firm  sustaining  grace. 

On  bended  knee,  with  streaming  eyes, 

My  longing  soul  within  me  cries 

That  I'm  not  worthy  to  unlace 

Th}r  very  shoes,  much  less  embrace 

With  sinful  eyes,  Thy  figure  meek; 

Still,  still  I  pray  that  Thou  wouldst  speak, 

And  let  me  see  Thy  blessed  face, 

And  feel  Thy  firm  sustaining  grace. 


[38] 


The  Arum  r: 

It  is  not  words,  it  is  not  cries, 
Nor  bended  knee,  nor  streaming  eyes; 
It  is  not  groveling  in  thy  grief* 
Shall  bring  thy  soul  a  sweet  relief. 

I'll  walk  with  thee  when  thou  art  meek  ; 
When  thou  canst  hear  I'll  freely  speak. 
Lo,  I  have  stood  before  thy  door 
And  begged  for  entrance  o'er  and  o'er, 
A  thousand  times  thou'st  heard  My  cry, 
A  thousand  thou  hast  passed  Me  by. 
Thou'lt  see  Me  on  the  icy  street 
Where  children  walk  with  naked  feet ; 
Thou'lt  hear  My  voice  and  catch  My  tone 
Where  widows  work  and  weep  alone. 
While  thou  hast  watched  with  eager  eyes 
To  see  Me  coming  from  the  skies, 
With  all  the  poor  without  thy  gate 
I  humbly  stand  and  patient  wait. 
Where  love  and  truth  have  suffered  loss, 
Lo,  there  I  hang  upon  My  cross; 
Where  faith  hath  wrought  to  set  men  free, 
My  riven  tomb,  look  there  and  see; 
Where  right  hath  found  a  martyr  friend, 
There  is  the  mount  whence  I  ascend. 
And  cross  and  tomb  and  Olivet 
Are  waiting  for  thee,  even  yet. 
These  prayers  of  thine  are  idle  words, 
As  actors  play  with  guns  and  swords. 
When  thou  shalt  make  thy  actions  pray, 
Thy  Lent  shall  have  its  Eastev  day, 
And  heaven  and  earth  and  ev'ry  place 
Shall  speak  My  voice  and  show  My  face. 
[39] 


THE  RESURRECTION  AND  THE  LIFE 

The  morn  had  hung  her  gauzy  robe 
Of  light  'twixt  night  and  day ; 

Low  in  the  west,  the  moon,  a  globe 
Of  polished  silver,  lay. 

Like  some  fair  spirit  of  delight 

Or  Venus  from  the  sea ; 
The  world,  half  risen  from  the  night, 

Half  hid  in  mystery. 

The  white  clouds  lay,  a  level  zone, 

On  Nebo's  mighty  frame, 
And  o'er  them  Pisgah  rose  and  shone, 

An  altar  all  aflame. 

The  fading  shades,  like  ancient  ghosts 

Of  curses  grown  afeared, 
Were  sweeping  past  as  all  the  hosts 

Of  army  light  appeared. 

Life  everywhere  on  wings  of  power 

Was  rising  from  the  tomb; 
Life  everywhere!     'Twas  like  a  flower 

Fresh  bursting  into  bloom. 

No  hurrying  earthly  voices  broke 

The  waiting  stillness  calm, 
But  all  the  living  silence  spoke 

And  said :     "  O  man,  I  AM." 

[40] 


"I  AM  that  rule  the  heaven  and  earth 

And  roll  the  season's  rhyme, 
Forever  bringing  to  rebirth 
The  age  of   evening   time. 

"  I  build  the  mountain;  tear  its  crust; 

By  Me  its  rocks  are  hurled ; 
I  grind  them  into  formless  dust 

And  so  rebuild  the  world. 

"  I  blow  upon  each  living  thing 

And  wither  it  in  death ; 
I  blow  again  and,  lo,  the  Spring 

Is  in  My  quickening  breath. 

"  For  I  am  God ;  and  Nature  still, 

In  every  mood  and  grace, 
Does  more  than  manifest  My  will; 

It  hides  or  shows  My  face. 

"  And  is  there  Truth  and  is  there  Love 

That  live  and  cannot  die? 
O  man,  these  things  are  from  above, 

O  man,  these  things  am  I. 

"  The  resurrection  and  the  life 
Are  in  the  night  and  morn; 

The  universe,  in  peace,  in  strife, 
Proclaims  the  dead,  the  born." 


[41] 


THE  CHRISTMASTIDE 

AN    ECSTASY 

Awake,  my  soul,  awake  and  sing 
The  glory  of  the  heavenly  king ; 
The  King  that  maketh  wars  to  cease, 
And  bringeth  peace,  and  bringcth  peace. 

The  nations  wait  to  hear  His  tread 
For  round  Him  wake  the  quick  and  dead ; 
And,  in  the  darkness  of  their  night, 
He  bringeth  light,  He  bringeth  light. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  stricken  men, 
He  bringeth  faith  and  hope  again ; 
And,  from  the  heart  of  God  above, 
He  bringeth  Love,  He  bringeth  Love. 

Then  wake,  my  soul,  awake  and  sing, 
And  all  your  richest  treasures  bring ; 
For  grace  divine,  salvation  free, 
He  bringeth  thee,  He  bringeth  thee. 

Ring  out,  ye  bells,  O  ring  away, 
The  Christ  of  God  is  born  to-day; 
The  world  is  old,  He  makes  it  new ; 
O  hallelu  Jah,  hallelu. 

O  hearts  of  men,  awake  and  sing, 
Let  heaven  and  earth  with  praises  ring; 
Tell  out  again  this  Christmas  morn 
That  Christ  is  born,  that  Christ  is  born. 
[42] 


A  SONG  OF  THE  NEW  YEAH 

The  old  year,  the  cold  year, 

Is  numbered  with  the  dead ; 

The  new  year,  the  true  year, 

Is  stretching  fair  ahead. 
Behind  arc  all  the  miseries,  before  are  all  the  joys; 
My  soul  leaps  up  and  runs  away  as  fearless  as  a  boy's. 

But  doubts  come  about  some, 

And  serpents  wake  with  spring; 

And  health  dies  and  wealth  flies, 

And  hearts  forget  to  sing; 
Lord  Jesus,  grant  thy  faith  to  us,  thy  loyalty  of  love; 
That  men  may  sing  in  all  the  earth  as  angels  sing  above. 

The  heavens  rang  when  the  angels  sang 

Their  song  on  Judah's  plain ; 

And  near  now  we  hear  now 

That  heavenly  song  again ; 
Our  eyes  shall  see  that  glory  and  our  ears  shall  hear  complete, 
When  hand  in  hand  and  heart  to  heart  we  walk  with  willing  feet. 

Then  my  hand  for  thy  hand 

And  all  our  doubtings  past; 

And  my  heart  for  thy  heart 

And  love  to  bind  them  fast ; 
With  Christ  above  at  God's  right  hand,  the  Spirit  full  and  free, 
Through  ev'ry  danger  that  may  come,  will  still  keep  you  and  me. 


[43] 


KENYON  ALUMNI  HYMN 

Dear  Kenyon,  queen  of  mothers, 

Our  memory's  fondest  shrine, 
We  hail  thee  here  as  brothers 

And  loyal  sons  of  thine; 
Beneath  thine  ancient  roof-tree, 

And  in  thy  sacred  walls, 
Again,  again,  we  hail  thee 

And  ring  it  through  thy  halls. 

REFRAIN. 

Then  heart  to  heart,  my  brother, 
And  here's  my  hand  for  you, 

We  hail  thee,  Kenyon,  Mother, 
And  pledge  thee  here  anew. 

Thou  liftest  up  thy  steeple 

High  over  hill  and  plain, 
To  call  among  the  people, 

"  My  sons,  come  home  again !  " 
Our  feet  run  far  to  meet  thee, 

Our  hearts  leap  up  to  bless, 
We  stretch  our  hands  to  greet  thee, 

And  touch  thee  to  caress. 

We  join  with  long-gone  pleasure 
In  songs  we  used  to  sing, 

And,  in  the  rolling  measure, 
Our  winters  turn  to  spring: 


[44] 


Dear  Mother,  though  we've  trodden 
A  long  and  weary  way, 

Our  hearts  are  still  unsodden, 
And  we  are  boys  to-day. 

God  bless  thee,  Holy  Mother, 

And  keep  thee  pure  and  true, 
We  love  thee  as  none  other, 

And  pledge  thee  here  anew. 
May  all  the  breezes  love  thee, 

And  float  thy  banners  high, 
The  heavens  still  shine  above  thee 

Forever  and  for  aye. 


[45] 


A    SUMMER    SUNSET    ON    THE    COAST    OF    NEW- 
JERSEY 

How  grandly  doth  the  evening  come, 

And  yet  how  soft  its  shadows  fall; 
No  pageantry  of  trump  and  drum, 

Nor  cannon's  crash  nor  herald's  call. 

The  sun  sinks  slowly  to  his  rest, 

In  pearl  and  amber  banks  he  sets, 
While  up  the  arches  of  the  West 

The  fire-god  flings  his  bannerets. 

Up,  up  a  height  of  clouds  immense 
They  float  in  splendor  o'er  the  skies, 

Till  consciousness,  absorbed  in  sense, 
Lives  only  in  divine  surprise. 

Far  called  by  kindred  elements, 

M3'  answering  spirit  sweeps  away 
To  airy,  firelit  continents 

And  islands  of  the  fading  day. 

Embosomed  in  a  lambent  sea, 

Where   glory   into   glory   dies, 
Till  all  the  Wfest's  a  chancelrie 

For  Nature's  evening  sacrifice. 

Fair  vision  of  the  ever  blest, 

In  thee  her  priestly  powers  conspire 
To  show  the  end  of  final  rest, 

And  all  that's  noble  in  desire. 
[46] 


Tin'  choral  beauty  glowing  there 
Hid  in  the  heart  of  common  things, 

With  lordlj  hand  she  lays  it  bare, 
And,  lo,  it  most  divinely  sings. 

It  sings  of  the  abysmal  love, 

That  weaves  the  cosmos  in  its  spell, 

And,  mirrored  on  the  heavens  above, 
Confutes  blind  chaos  and  his  hell. 

With  liturgies  of  voiceless  trust 

That  from  her  humblest  still  aspires; 

With  offerings  of  mist  and  dust 
Wind  blown  above  her  altar  fires; 

She,  reverent,  lifts  the  imperial  gates 
And  lets  her  Prince's  glory  come; 

The  soul  of  things,  immortal,  waits, 
And  I  wait  with  it  —  like  it  —  dumb. 


[47] 


A  RAINY  DAY  IN  OCTOBER 

All  day  the  fretful  winds  have  swept 

In  eddies  overhead; 
All  day  the  low-hung  clouds  have  wept 

Like  mourners  for  the  dead. 

The  cricket  hides  within  the  wall 

And  sings  no  vesper  song; 
I  only  hear  the  raindrops  fall, 

And  winds  wail  all  day  long. 

I  love  the  autumn  time  of  year, 

The  deep  October  sky, 
The  bob-white's  whistle,  sharp  and  clear; 

The  whip-poor-will's  sad  cry. 

I  love  the  streams  that  steal  along 
By  woodlands  touched  with  brown, 

The  oak  trees  standing  stark  and  strong, 
The  leaves  that  flutter  down. 

But,  oh,  these  branches  whipt  and  tossed, 
These  sodden  leaves  and  dead 

Are  like  the  spirits  of  the  lost 
Who  ope  the  gates  of  Dread. 

Dread  Mem'ry's  gates  wherein  I  go 
With  strange  reluctance  shod, 

To  meet  twin  spectres  whom  I  know  — 
Myself  —  as  brute  and  god. 

[48] 


And  one  is  fierce  and  very  strong; 

And  one  is  frail  and  fair; 
And  one  roars  out  a  battle  song; 

And  one  lias  only  prayer. 

In  vain  the  frenzied  strength,  in  vain 

The  brutal  battle  song; 
The  storms  of  life  with  wind  and  rain 

Are  stronger  than  the  strong. 

Let  him  who  can  sing  hymns  to  youth 
As  man's  most  glorious  prime; 

For  me  'tis  ever  age's  truth 
And  manhood  are  sublime. 

My  bark  is  in  the  heavy  mist 

And  sails  to  fairer  day: 
The  winds  of  God  blow  where  they  list, 

And  I  can  only  pray. 

October's  fields  of  golden  grain, 
October's  garnered  sheaves, 

Are  still  beyond  the  wind  and  rain 
And  heaps  of  sodden  leaves. 


[49] 


TO  TWO  LITTLE  MAIDENS 

THE    CHILDREN    OF    MRS.    E.    U.    P. 

Sweet  sovereigns  from  another  clime 
Above  this  ruder  realm  of  time, 
We  bend  the  knee  to  give  to  thee 
The  homage  of  our  fealty. 

Wider  than  our  experience 
The  kingdom  of  thy  innocence, 
And  through  thy  eyes  we  see  arise 
Fair  empires  of  Love's  high  emprise. 

We  longing  stoop  to  catch  the  bliss 
That  waits  us  in  thy  trusting  kiss, 
For  thou  art  clean  as  the  Unseen 
And  ro}raler  than  king  or  queen. 

We  wonder  why  ye  strayed  away 
From  gardens  of  the  gods  of  day, 
But  bless  the  grace  in  each  sweet  face 
The  light  that  lightens  every  place. 


[50] 


TO  MISS  K.   McC. 

For  thee  I  pray  thai  gentle  ways 

May  >till  be  thine  through  length  of  days; 

That  hope  professed 

May  find  its  strength  in  faith  confessed; 

That  riches  true, 

Thou  child  of  love,  may  go  with  you ; 

That  every  truth, 

And  every  grace 
May  shine,  dear  Ruth, 

From  thy  sweet  face. 

For  grief's  surcease, 
With  heaven's  own  peace; 
And  then  always 
For  God's  good  praise. 
Amen. 


[51] 


TO  A  BUTTERFLY 

O  butterfly  that  swingest  by, 
Without  a  song,  without  a  sigh, 
Upon  my  sight  thy  dreamy  flight 
Flings  only  sensuous  delight. 

Thou  flashest  o'er  the  brook  that  sings 
And  stoopest  where  the  thistle  swings, 
But  crystal  brook  and  thistle  green 
Are  unto  thee  as  the  unseen. 

Thou  dost  not  wake,  thou  dost  not  sleep, 
For  nothing  dost  thou  vigil  keep ; 
Nor  length  nor  breadth  nor  deep  nor  high 
Are  in  thy  heart  or  in  thine  eye. 

What  matters  all  thy  gaudy  coat, 
Thy  beauty  matchless  when  afloat, 
Thou  mindless  wanderer  of  the  fields 
That  always  takes  and  never  yields? 

With  morning  born,  with  evening  dead, 
A  memory  with,  ten  thousand  fled, 
Thou  dancest  in  the  summer's  light, 
A  little  dance,  and  it  is  night. 

Yet,  vagrant  from  some  fairy  clime, 
And  harbinger  of  summer  time, 
Stretch  wide  thy  wings  thine  every  hour 
And  fold  them  over  every  flower. 

[52] 


Thy  beauty  and  thy  wondrous  grace 
But  helps  to  hallow  every  place ; 
Thy  thoughtlessness  of  coming  doom 
Still  leaves  to  thee  a  world  in  bloom. 


[53] 


THE  CONCERTINA  PLAYER 

I  wondered  from  what  foreign  strand 
Had  come  this  alien  to  the  race; 

Nor  Slav,  nor  Greek,  nor  Southron  land 
Had  writ  a  message  on  his  face. 

His  clothes  were  poor  and  worn  and  old, 
His  wrinkled  cheeks  were  dark  with  grime, 

And,  slouching  o'er  the  pavements  cold, 
He  seemed  of  neither  place  nor  time. 

A  concertina  like  himself 

He  held  within  his  dirty  hands, 

And,  idly,  for  a  little  pelf, 

He  played  the  tunes  of  many  lands. 

The  western  sun  began  to  slant, 

The  crowd  poured  by  in  steady  streams, 

And  heeded  not  this  mendicant 

Who  moved  as  one  that  only  dreams. 

I  heard  him  o'er  and  o'er  begin, 
And  nothing  held  his  fancy  long, 

'Twas  now  a  bit  of  ancient  hymn, 
And  now  a  snatch  of  comic  song. 

But  suddenly,  as  to  and  fro 

His  lazy  fingers  touched  the  keys, 

The  nasal  tones,  now  high,  now  low, 
He  hoped  some  idling  ear  would  please, 

[54] 


Swept  on  into  a  nobler  bar 

Fop  which  (he  player  had  not  planned, 
And,  lo,  the  mighty  voice  of  war 

Rang  through  a  desolated  land. 

The  street,  the  city  and  the  crowd 

Passed  instant  from  my  startled  glance, 

No  more  the  slouching  figure  bowed, 
But  rose  and  stood,  incarnate  France. 

As  all  the  years  of  struggling  truth 
Beneath  his  fingers  sang  their  pain, 

Some  spirit  of  immortal  youth 
Had  set  him  with  his  own  again. 

I  heard  the  voice  of  crazed  alarms, 
A  people's  who  had  been  betrayed ; 

I  heard  the  call  of  wrath  to  arms 

For  rights  that  would  not  be  delayed. 

I  heard  a  nation's  heavy  groans ; 

I  saw  the  streets  with  blood  run  red; 
And  then  the  rending  crash  of  thrones 

Where  kings  forget  the  right  to  bread. 

Like  one  who  from  some  organ  brings 
The  martyr's  voice  of  ancient  praise ; 

So  they  who  once  had  slaughtered  kings 
Came  forth  and  sang  the  Marseillaise  — 

And  I  sang  with  them  —  all  the  ghosts 
Who  sang  that  song  of  war  and  death ; 
[55] 


And  I  heard  singing  all  the  hosts 

Who  yet  shall  breathe  the  common  breath. 

The  western  sun  was  far  aslant ; 

The  crowd  ceased  pouring  by  in  streams ; 
Still  stood  this  lonely  mendicant 

And  idly  played  as  one  that  dreams. 


[56] 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE 

TWO     VOICES 

/  IlUI  modi  when  your  fear  comcth." 

Stop,  for  a  year  lies  dying; 

Silence,  a  year  is  dead ; 
Fierce  on  the  North-wind  flying 

Soundeth  a  voice  of  dread ; 
"  I  am  the  soul  of  your  years, 

Troubled  and  tempest-tossed; 
I  speak  the  voice  of  your  fears 

And  moan  for  worlds  you  lost." 

Icy  the  breath  of  midnight ; 

Cold  the  stars  in  the  sky; 
Ghostly  the  glare  of  moonlight 

When  the  old-year  must  die; 
Ghastly  the  forms  that  daunt  me ; 

Pale  hands  flit  over  my  brow ; 
Curses  and  prayers  that  haunt  me 

Mingle  about  me  now. 

E'en  though  a  year  be  dying, 

E'en  though  a  year  be  dead, 
Deathless  the  dead  come  crying, 

Swathed  in  their  mantles  red : 
"Graves  for  thy  mem'ries?     Never. 

Tombs  where  thy  sins  can  hide? 
Ever  more  and  forever 

They  in  the  world  abide. 

[57] 


"  Gaunt,  the  spectre  of  famine 

Walks  the  earth  for  thy  greed; 
Hunger  itself  shall  examine 

Deeds  thou  hast  done  that  bleed; 
Lust,  that  recks  not  of  sorrow, 

Shrieks  in  thy  maniac  glee, 
Cursing  each  man's  to-morrow 

As  long  as  men  shall  be. 

"  Souls  of  immortal  evil 

Breathed  their  life  from  thee, 
While  thy  hand  for  the  devil 

Played  with  eternity. 
Who,  O  man,  shall  deliver? 

Where  is  he  can  release? 
Ages  to  come  shall  shiver 

To  measure  thy  sin's  increase." 


[58] 


Behold  I  Make  All  Thing*  New. 


&■ 


Over  the  phantoms  dismal 
Crying  for  sin's  Buroea 

Out  of  the  deeps  abysmal 

Cometh  the  voice  of  peace ; 
Cometh  the  WORD  eternal : 

"  Sorrow  alone  hath  sufficed ; 
I  am  the  way  supernal; 

I  am  the  living  Christ. 

"  Trust,  and  thou  shalt  receive  Me, 

Even  under  the  rod ; 
Love,  and  thou  shalt  conceive  Me, 

Fair  as  the  will  of  God. 
Lo,  I  am  with  thee  alway ; 

Rise,  I  bid  thee  to  stand; 
Forward  into  the  new  day ; 

Fear  not,  I  am  at  hand." 

Onward  then,  Christian,  onward, 

Courage  upon  thy  brow  ; 
Onward,  O  Christian,  onward, 

Christ  is  beside  thee  now. 
Take  the  sword  of  the  spirit ; 

Faith  be  thy  flag  unfurled ; 
Into  thy  future  nor  fear  it, 

God  is  King  of  the  world. 


[59] 


IN  RESPONSE  TO  A  MESSAGE  FROM  W.  G. 

The  Winter's  snows  are  the  winding  sheet 
Where  Spring's  sweet  promise  now  lies  dead; 

And  the  flowers  we  seek  with  eager  feet 
We  never  grasp  till  the  bloom  has  fled. 

There's  a  Lure  that  paints  our  future  fair 
And  the  boy's  heart  leaps  in  noble  rage ; 

But  we  only  walk  where  the  visions  were 
With  the  feeble  steps  of  a  palsied  age. 

Oh,  reluctant  hand  of  heartless  Fate, 

Whose  only  gift  is  an  unshed  tear, 
Our  hopes  grow  old,  and  they  fruit  too  late 

But  Love  is  young  at  seventy  year. 

I  ask  not  Time  with  his  scythe  and  glass 
For  the  earth  beneath  or  sky  above; 

With  Time  they  came  and  with  Time  they  pass, 
And  I  am  rich  if  I  have  but  Love. 


[60] 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  ON  THE  94TH  ANNIVERSARY 

OF  HIS  BIRTH 

He  stood  amidst  the  breaking  waves 
Of  human  passions,  fierce  and  wild, 
'  And  knew  the  only  strength  that  saves, 
And  used  it  simply  as  a  child. 

Uncouth,  unpolished  and  unschooled, 

Let  sages  learn  from  him  again ; 
He  knew  the  human  heart  and  ruled 

As  one  who  loves  his  fellow  man. 

I  see  his  mighty  figure  —  dim 

And  misty  through  a  nation's  tears; 

How  beauteous  are  the  feet  of  him  — 
The  choicest  of  a  thousand  years. 

"  God  give  us  men  ?  "     Nay,  give  us  God 

In  men  who  do  His  high  behest; 
And  walk  in  faith  beneath  the  rod 

Like  him,  this  giant  of  the  West. 

Come,  Langton  and  ye  barons  old  — ■ 
And  all  ye  heroes  —  from  the  gloom, 

Come  forth  from  death  and  dust  and  mold, 
And  lay  your  Charter  on  his  tomb. 

Ye  saw  a  vision  of  free  men, 

And  nobly  dreamed  with  hand  on  sword ; 

His  was  the  hand  whose  fearless  pen 
Completed  the  Eternal's  word. 
[61] 


O  people,  called  again  to  strive, 

Break  forth  to  singing  for  Ins  birth; 

The  Lord  is  God,  and  He  will  drive 

The  shadows  from  this  war-worn  earth. 


[62] 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  SUFFERING 

To  be  a  bard  and  sing  my  song  — 

A  prophet  with  a  vision  new  — 
To  rise  above  the  middle  throng 

And  walk  with  heaven  and  earth  in  view- 
To  see  the  things  that  none  can  see 

Save  only  the  anointed  kings; 
To  be  the  thing  that  none  can  be 

Whose  profit  is  in  little  things; 

To  own  the  earth  and  sky  with  God: 
Dominion  have  on  land  and  sea  — 

For  this  I'll  bend  beneath  the  rod 
And  kiss  the  hand  that  chastens  me. 

And  when,  through  all  life's  agony, 
My  clouded  vision  has  grown  clear, 

And  mine's  the  changeless  harmony 
Of  perfect  faith  without  a  fear, 

Lord,  send  me  forth  to  speak  to  them  — 
Thy  children,  kindred  to  the  clods  — 

And  set  them  in  Thy  diadem, 

And  make  them  brothers  to  the  gods. 


f63] 


"  And  yet  I  am  not  alone  because  the  Father  is  with  me  " 

There  is  a  faith  that's  writ  in  blood  and  tears, 
[And,  though  it  knows  the  failures  of  the  years, 
Still  rests  on  Providence  and  feels  no  fears. 

There  is  a  trust  that  never  stands  alone, 

And,  though  it  hears  the  whole  world's  bitter  moan, 

With  cloudless  eyes  sees  God  upon  His  throne. 

Wake,  soul  of  mine,  and  cease  not  to  aspire; 
Fill  up  thy  night  with  light  of  heavenly  fire; 
Seek  comradeship  amongst  the  souls  up  higher. 

Reach  hands  to  angels  of  the  upper  sphere; 
Draw  near  to  things  divine  and  yet  more  near, 
Till  perfect  love  has  cast  out  ev'ry  fear, 

Until  thy  World  is  filled  with  holy  powers, 
And  Nature  gives  thee  ages  for  thy  hours, 
And  God  shall  say  to  thee  of  all  things  —  ours. 


[64] 


ON  MEETING  A  BLIND  MAN   IN   THE  STREET 

I  met  him  on  a  quiet  street 

Where  he  and  I  were  all  alone; 
And  rhythmic  with  his  patient  feet 

His  stick  kept  tapping  on  the  stone. 

I  stopped  and  watched  him  on  his  way, 
I  watched  his  stumbles  and  his  slips, 

And  something  seemed  to  bid  me  pray, 
And  something  froze  it  on  my  lips. 

He  knew  the  darkness  that  had  been 

Before  God  said :     "  Let  there  be  light ;  " 

While  I  the  shining  world  had  seen, 
And  all  the  splendor  of  the  night. 

He  had  the  look  of  one  that  prays ; 

His  face  was  old  with  more  than  years; 
His  solemn,  sphinx-like,  sightless  gaze 

Seemed  seeing  things  too  sad  for  tears. 

He  almost  touched  me  as  he  went ; 

He  could  have  laid  his  hand  in  mine; 
Yet  all  the  lighted  firmament, 

And  all  the  plan  of  things  divine, 

Came  whisp'ring  to  me :     "  You  can  see 

And  he  will  never  see  again," 
And  stretched  between  us  —  him  and  me  — 

A  void  too  vast  for  my  amen. 


[65] 


What  word  had  I  who  owned  the  day 
For  him  whose  loss  I'd  never  known? 

He  asked  not  me  to  point  the  way, 
He  only  asked  the  paving  stone. 

And  yet  a  cheer  was  in  his  face, 
A  child-like  trust  it  almost  seemed, 

The  subtle,  strange,  unconscious  grace 
Of  one  who  sweetly  slept  and  dreamed. 

And  so  he  went  adown  the  street 
A  blind  man  walking  all  alone, 

And,  with  a  stead}'  rhythmic  beat, 
His  stick  kept  tapping  on  the  stone. 


[66] 


THE  QUESTION 

Look  up  and  down  this  weary  earth 
And  mark  that  aged  working  man, 

Whose  only  joy  is  clownish  mirth, 
Whose  only  law  —  to  take  who  can. 

God  gave  him  health  and  grace  and  might, 

A  supple  form,  a  noble  brow, 
And  in  the  simple  faith  of  right 

He  set  his  strong  hand  to  the  plow. 

And  so  for  sixty  years  he  wrought 

In  Summer's  shine  and  Winter's  snow, 

And  held  his  very  soul  for  naught, 
And  watched  a  hoard  of  dollars  grow. 

He  never  looked  to  see  a  flower ; 

He  breathed  no  glory  from  the  skies ; 
The  rainbow  with  the  sun  and  shower, 

Ne'er  shone  resplendent  for  his  eyes. 

His  only  thought  was  age's  need, 
His  only  battles,  with  the  clods, 

His  only  inspiration,  greed, 
And  honesty  and  toil  his  gods. 

Behold  him  now  his  work  is  done, 
And  he  the  product  of  his  years ; 

For  all  his  labours  —  one  by  one  — 

Have  turned  to  jest  his  sweat  and  tears. 

[6T] 


The  oak  tree  when  it  comes  to  die 

Still  bravely  speaks  of  Nature's  plan; 

Before  her  throne  I  stand  and  cry : 

"  What  mean  ye  by  this  finished  man?  ' 

This  man  whose  sixty  years  of  life 
Deny  all  prophecies  of  youth ; 

Who  never  shirked  the  honest  strife, 
Nor  deemed  himself  untrue  to  truth. 

He  came  in  beauty  and  in  grace, 
The  richest  fruitage  of  all  time, 

With  something  godlike  in  his  face, 
And  all  his  promises  sublime. 

And  now  he  goes  a  tottering  slave 
Nor  wonders  why  his  life  began, 

Write  on  a  headstone  for  his  grave ; 
"  He  lived  and  died  an  honest  man." 

Look  up  and  down  this  weary  earth, 
And  tell  me,  if  3'ou  truly  can, 

If  Nature  ever  brought  to  birth 
One  sadder  than  this  working  man. 


[68] 


TO  A  POETESS  AT  EIGHTY  YEARS 

O  heart  of  mine  rejoice,  rejoice. 

And  hope  dry  uj>  thy  tears, 
For  lo,  a  loving  living  voice 

That  sin^s  at  eighty  yean. 

She  knows  the  sorrows  that  appall, 

The  miseries  and  fears ; 
God  bless  the  heart  that  through  it  all 

Still  sings  at  eighty  years. 

The  glory  of  the  world  she  sees, 

Its  harmony  she  hears ; 
She  looks  and  listens  —  on  her  knees, 

And  sings  at  eighty  years. 

Sing  then  the  songs  of  eighty  years, 

For  love  is  ever  young, 
And  life  is  more  than  yet  appears 

Or  songs  would  ne'er  be  sung. 

So  strike  for  love  and  life  thy  lyre; 

What  thou  receivest,  give, 
And  sing  with  all  the  heavenly  choir: 

To  love  is  but  to  live. 


[69] 


A  CHRISTMAS  GREETING  TO  MY  WIFE 

Give  me  thy  love. —  It  is  enough 
E'en  on  this  natal  day  of  Christ 

That  thou  in  me  and  I  in  thee 

Have  found  the  strength  that  hath  sufficed. 

Amidst  a  world  that  little  cares 
What  joys  or  sorrows  may  betide, 

Be  thou  for  me  and  I  for  thee, 

I  still  the  bridegroom,  thou  the  bride. 

As  hand  in  hand  and  heart  to  heart, 

Though  age  may  touch  our  heads  with  snow, 

Nor  wrinkled  face  nor  tottering  step 
Shall  dim  or  darken  love's  sweet  glow, 

Together  up  the  heavenly  steeps 
To  visions  fair  our  hopes  fore-tell, 

I  seeing  through  thine  eyes  and  mine, 

And  thou  through  thine  and  mine  as  well. 

What  raptures  can  the  heavens  contain 
That  death  or  hell  can  take  away, 

When  I  have  mine  in  thy  true  heart 
And  thou  hast  thine  in  mine  alway? 

What  could  I  bring  and  give  to  thee 
That  wouldst  not  savour  of  the  earth? 

Nor  flashing  gem  nor  jewel  rare 

Could  mark  the  measure  of  thy  worth. 

[70] 


.What  couldst  thou  bring  and  give  to  me 
Wrought  by  thy  hand  or  bought  with  pelf, 

When  I  have  ever  as  mine  own 

Love's  fullest  gift  —  thy  own  dear  self? 

So  let  us  live,  so  let  us  die, 

So  let  us  join  th'  eternal  throng, 

That  all  the  music  of  our  life 

Shall  blend  at  once  in  heaven's  song. 


[71] 


TO  MY  PIPE 

They  tell  me  Death  sits  in  thy  bowl, 

O  my  pipe; 
With  power  to  soothe  and  damn  my  soul, 

O  my  pipe; 
'Tis  wondrous  what  the  devil  owns 
Beyond  his  realm  of  aches  and  groans 
And  vanities  that  grace  bemoans, 

O  my  pipe. 

I  feel  within  the  gentle  thrill, 

O  my  pipe; 
Of  perfect  peace  and  all  good  will, 

O  my  pipe; 
The  doctors  say  'twill  make  me  ill, 
The  preachers  say  my  soul  'twill  kill, 
But  all  my  nature  loves  thee  still, 

O  my  pipe. 

Come,  give  me  one  more  draw  at  thee, 

O  my  pipe; 
Till  in  thy  foamy  clouds  I  see, 

O  my  pipe; 
Fair  dreams  of  things  that  stir  my  heart :  - 
The  songs  of  peace,  the  hopes  of  art ; 
O  thou  and  I  can  never  part, 

O  my  pipe. 


[72] 


OUR  BUNGALOW 

Where  Ocean's  tides  swing  to  and  fro; 

Where  all  its  balmj  breezes  blow; 

And  where  the  flowers  and  grasses  grow; 

Just  there,  you  see 
Our  humble  little  bungalow 

Rise  modestly. 

Before  it  lies  the  sandy  plain, 

And  round  it  rolls  the  mighty  main, 

Thun'dring  for  aye  its  slow  refrain 

Of  music  grand; 
The  solemn  planetary  strain 

Of  sea  and  land. 

No  battlements  nor  lordly  towers, 

Fit  emblems  of  wealth's  prideful  powers, 

In  gloomy  splendor  fiercely  lowers 

Above  its  roof; 
But  all  the  stormy  winds  and  showers 

It  keeps  aloof. 

And  all  the  glory  of  the  day 

Falls  freely  round  its  walls  of  gray; 

And  here  the  children  come  to  play 

With  new  delights, 
While  Nature's  warblers  sing  their  lay 

Like  Freedom's  sprites. 


[73] 


When  from  behind  the  clouds  at  night 
The  hurrying  moon  hastes  in  her  flight, 
She  marks  a  flaming  path  of  light 

The  waters  o'er, 
And  tips  each  crested  wave  with  white 

Along  our  shore. 

And  from  that  lowly  cottage  door 
Th'  expanding  soul  finds  room  to  soar, 
Up  from  the  earth  to  heaven's  floor 

'Tis  all  our  own ; 
■When  hearts  are  kingly,  who  wants  more? 

We  have  a  throne. 

Now  peace  be  on  thy  humbleness; 
Here  may  content  ne'er  find  distress ; 
Here  friends  find  warmer  friendliness 

Than  e'er  before; 
Till  even  strangers  stop  to  bless 

Thy  open  door. 


[74] 


UNFINISHED  FRAGMENT 

The  hills  and  the  valleys  follow 
Like  the  waves  of  a  coming  sea, 

And  through  the  rift  of  the  clouds  that  drift 
The  sun  shines  gloriousl}-. 

The  com  and  the  wheat  are  standing 

In  green   and  gold  array, 
And  the  waving  grass  in  the  winds  that  pass 

Is  blue  as  the  deeps  of  day. 

The  oaks  and  the  elms  are  waving 
As  their  leaves  beat  up  and  down, 

And  they  softly  sing  of  the  passing  spring 
And  the  Autumn's  royal  brown. 

Beyond  the  mellow  distance 

The  black  horizon  lies; 
Like  an  iron  girth  it  belts  the  earth 

And  rims  the  hollow  skies. 

Note: — Written  the  evening  before  he  was  stricken. 


[75] 


